


The Sun is Up (I'm So Happy, I Could Scream)

by Who Shot AR (akerwis)



Category: Locke & Key
Genre: Clothing, Established Relationship, F/M, Morning After, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-05
Updated: 2012-05-05
Packaged: 2017-11-04 21:11:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akerwis/pseuds/Who%20Shot%20AR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometime when all that shit with Dodge is over and done, Scot wakes up to Kinsey in a shirt he'd rather she didn't wear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sun is Up (I'm So Happy, I Could Scream)

Scot woke up groggy, like usual, and to the sound of a girl humming, which was new. She stood before his bedroom window in a t-shirt, back to him and hair sticking out every which way--and suddenly, the air was sucked out of his lungs. _His parents were going to kill him._  
  
But no, Mom and Dad were in Manhattan for their anniversary, and Jenny was on a sleepover extravaganza at one of her little friends' houses for the weekend. Scot could have had an orgy the night before and no one would have been the wiser. Smuggling one girl into an empty house for enthusiastic, though admittedly not orgiastic, sex and also the Kavanaugh living room premiere of _Snakes on a Plane_ was nothing in comparison.  
  
...Well, not nothing. Losing your virginity was hardly _nothing_.   
  
He had a full thirty seconds to bask in the renewed glory of this achievement before he realized what t-shirt she was wearing.  
  
Eyes wide, Scot sat straight up in bed. "What're you doing in that?"  
  
Kinsey turned around, and the way one of her eyebrows was raised suggested that maybe that wasn't the best way to start the morning off. "Looking outside. That is allowed, right?"  
  
"Oh--yeah, it is," he said lamely. This was the fast track to fucking up in a significant way. Time to save the conversation, Kavanaugh. "You're just...if you'll pardon the request, could you pick a different outfit for the occasion?"  
  
"I thought guys liked it when girls wore their shirts," Kinsey said, rolling her eyes, and slipped it over her head. Scot glanced away, then wondered whether that meant he was a prude or a gentleman. The idea of seeing her naked when they were going to do it was one thing; casual nudity, the smooth skin of her bare hips and chest only emphasized by the sunlight, had an unexpected intimacy he didn't feel worthy of.  
  
 _Prude_ , he decided. It definitely made him a prude. He could never, ever tell anyone about this.  
  
"They do," Scot assured her, rummaging through the pile of clothes next to his closet for a shirt of less significance. He handed it to her and tried not to look like he was ogling her. "Guys think it's incredibly sexy, luv. But--but not _that_ shirt."  
  
Kinsey held up the shirt he'd handed her and shook her head. "No way. This one smells." She leaned over next to him and grabbed his worn black Echo & the Bunnymen shirt from the edge of the pile. After a critical sniff, she pulled it on. "That's why I took the one off your dresser."  
  
"Because I smell? You wound me."  
  
She rolled her eyes again, giving his arm a playful shove. "You smell nice. But your laundry doesn't. When's the last time you did it, anyway?"  
  
"...That's a good question." Maybe he should have cleaned up in preparation for Kinsey seeing the inside of his bedroom. Well, he'd know for next time, provided he got a next time.  
  
Kinsey watched him pick up his shirt from where she set it on the back of his desk chair, and turn it right-side out. It seemed he'd managed to redeem himself somewhere along the line, because the corners of her lips were beginning to turn up as she said, "What's so special about that shirt anyway?"   
  
"Well," Scot replied, unable to resist a little showboating as he held the shirt up by the shoulders. "To the untrained eye, this is an everyday expression of a man's love for gothic New Wave. Unwashed, by the way, darling."  
  
"Ugh."  
  
"But if you look closer," and he indicated the black scribble of Sharpie marker over the back of the shirt, "you can see that it's merely not a t-shirt of The Cure. It's also signed by Robert Smith."  
  
" _Oh._ " She peered at the signature, mouth slightly open in what he hoped was the jaw-dropping reverence only due to the man who helped bring the world "Cut Here" and "Mint Car." "Did you meet him? That's so cool."  
  
"Not... _exactly_." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, realizing for the first time that maybe standing around in nothing but his BVDs, showing off rockstar autographs to his girlfriend, wasn't overwhelmingly debonaire. It didn't feel strange until that moment. "I bought it off Ebay last month."  
  
Kinsey, earthbound angel that she was--even without the Angel Key on-hand to prove it--looked up at him and smiled. "That's still pretty cool. I never thought about buying autographs off the internet before."  
  
Scot grinned. "Well, if the lady thinks it's _cool_ \--maybe you'll get Bob Marley's for your birthday."

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I chopped out the hard part of actually _getting_ them together--maybe I'll write that some other time. My personal characterization of Scot is that he wants to be significantly cooler than he's ever going to be and comes from a far more stable home than strikes him as interesting.


End file.
